


Hunteri Heroici Revisted

by Tweenie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s08e08 Hunteri Heroici, Leviathans, M/M, Sympathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6825541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tweenie/pseuds/Tweenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S08E08- Hunteri Herici: Sam, Dean, and Castiel (fresh from Purgatory and on the lamb from Heaven) are investigating a bizarre case in Oklahoma City wherein several people have met untimely, cartoonish ends. Castiel hasn't said much about his return from Purgatory, but Dean recognizes the face of someone who is running away. Like it or not, he's gonna get the angel to talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunteri Heroici Revisted

**Author's Note:**

> This is a (mostly complete) little oneshot that I wrote kind of a long time ago. So, most Destiel fans will know that Sam has a nasty (albeit unintentional) habit of being a hardcore cockblock for these two- always bursting in the room and interrupting some seriously bromanctic moments just as they're getting good. One such incident happened several seasons ago- Season 8, episode 8- and that one in particular miffed me a little. So, I decided to rewrite that scene (and add a little sympathetic Dean- which we could use a little more of tbh) It's mostly complete and I may write more in the future, but here's what I've got for now. Enjoy!

_**Dean's Perspective;** _

We were 0 for 2 on our case- and things just kept getting wackier. It was me and Sam's first time really working with another “hunter” since Gordon, and even though it _was_ Cass, it was still hard to really sink our teeth into the whole trio thing. We worked best as a duo- or alone. Two's company and all that. 

Cass, on the other hand, was acting different, especially for someone who had just survived purgatory. He's been obliterated before- several times now, but each time he was brought back, he was dead set on finding out who pulled him back from the brink. Now, he couldn't be less interested- he seemed to be much more interested in playing house. 

We'd been sitting in our considerably loud motel room for about a half hour already, in dead silence. The only sound in the room was the sound of Cass sifting through my dad's journal, with a kind of half ass curiosity. Sam was out, questioning some of the locals and gathering more information. Somehow, him being gone made this whole silence more uncomfortable. But it was good- after what happened in purgatory, Cass and I were overdue for a talk. 

“Your father. . . beautiful handwriting,” he murmured from my bed. It was kind of awkward that he was sitting on my bed in the first place, now that I think about it. But there he was. I was across the room, sitting at a little metal desk by the window- catching up on some research on Sam's laptop. (and yeah, I was _actually_ doing legit research) 

I glanced over at Cass, who was still turning pages in the journal- apparently admiring my dad's penmanship- which is also weird. But he's a weird little guy. But the way he'd been acting was starting to get to me. He was running. I could tell because I recognized the look on his face- I see it in the mirror all the time. 

“How you feeling, Cass?” I asked him, pretty sure I could guess what he was gonna say. 

“I'm fine,” he said, as if he actually was. If I didn't know better, I might have believed him. But I did know better. 

“Well, I just- I know that when. . . I got puked outta purgatory, it took me a few weeks to. . . find my sea legs.” It was a touchy subject, and I had this feeling it needed to be approached with caution. 

“I'm fine,” he said bluntly, this time sounding way less fine than he did before. He was annoyed that I wouldn't let this go, but I didn't give a damn. Something needed to be said. I kept my eyes on him- even though he was too busy fiddling with the journal to look at me (and something told me he was avoiding eye contact for a different reason)

“Don't get me wrong. I'm. . . I'm happy you're back. I'm. . . I'm freaking thrilled,” I said, hoping that would reduce the likelihood of a misunderstanding- those are easy to come by with Cass. “It's just this whole mysterious resurrection thing- it always has one mother of a downside.” He looked up at me and sighed, closing the journal with one of the most defeated looks I've ever seen. 

“So, what do you want me to do?” The fact that he jumped to what I wanted him to do made me a little uncomfortable. Even though the tone of his voice said; “I'm done,” the look on his face said; “whatever you wish.” 

“Maybe take a trip upstairs,” I suggested. We needed to know how he managed to get out of purgatory- chances are that it would turn out to be a problem we'd have to face later. . . it always was. 

“To Heaven?” he asked, his eyes narrowed, like I accused him of having a secret love affair with Hitler. 

“Yeah, poke around, see if the God squad can't tell us how you got out.”

“No,” he said, looking down at the closed journal in his hands. That was the moment I realized something was wrong. Cass was running from Heaven. He tuned out angel radio and now he was refusing to go back. It wasn't like him. But I'm nothing if not persistent. I chuckled a little, hoping to lighten the mood with another one of my horribly timed quips. 

“You know I hate those flying-ass monkeys as much as you do, but-” 

'Dean, I said no!” he said firmly, still not looking me in the eye. I stared at him for a minute, not really sure what to do. It was way worse than I thought. . . there was something _really_ wrong with Cass. I mean, he's always got something wrong with him, but this was different. He wasn't angry, he wasn't just running; he was scared. After everything I've seen him face- seeing him so scared kind of freaked me out. 

_**Castiel's Perspective;** _

I turned away from him. I couldn't face him; not knowing what I knew. Not being the coward that I was in that moment. I kept my gaze on the wall ahead of me until I heard the lid of the laptop close forcefully and the distinct sound of a chair sliding across the floor. Dean walked over to the edge of Sam's bed and sat across from me. He stayed there silently for a moment, staring at me.

“Talk to me,” he finally said. I was in no mood to to talk. It was a subject I would gladly forget if I could, but I knew Dean would persist whether I answered him or not. And something had to be said about this. To be honest, the fact that he was concerned about my obvious discomfort was a slightly pleasant surprise. So I turned to face him, with an exasperated sigh. I set his father's journal down on the bed beside me. 

“Dean, I. . . when I was. . . bad. . . and I had all those things- the leviathans. . . writhing around inside of me. . . I caused a lot of suffering on Earth, but I devastated Heaven. I vaporized thousands of my own kind,” I confessed. He listened quietly, pursing his lips, as he had a habit of doing. “and I. . . I can't go back. . .” I concluded, staring at him almost as though he could fix things, even though I knew he couldn't. 

“Because if you do the angels will kill you?” he asked, a look of woeful bewilderment on his face. It was cowardly, the real reason I couldn't go back. But I'd lied to Dean too many times already- and I couldn't do it anymore. So, even if it would make him lose even more respect for me, I had to tell him the truth. 

“Because if I see what Heaven's become, what I. . . what I made of it,” I confessed, with a sigh, “I'm afraid I might kill myself.” There was a moment of deafening silence- during which I thought I'd go insane simply from the lack of response. I tried reading his face, but that isn't a talent of mine, so it's difficult to say how close I came to hitting the mark.

It was always hard to read Dean's face- he almost always looked tormented. He almost always looked like he was on the verge of tears, except when he was cracking jokes. At that moment, he looked defeated- just as _I_ felt. His expression remained still, his beautiful green eyes glinting with moisture in the dull glow of the lamplight. His lips trembled briefly, the meaning of which I couldn't be sure. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had disappointed him. . . yet again.

_****_

_**Dean's Perspective;** _

I sat there, like a dumb ass, not moving- not talking. Just staring into his eyes, finally starting to recognize the pain and sadness behind them. Finding something in Cass that I could relate to was like looking for a dolphin in space. I mean, we come from different worlds, we couldn't be any more different. But this. . . right now. . . it was a feeling I knew, at least a little. 

That feeling that so many people would have been so much better off if you were never born. To have caused so much suffering that your very existence was like a big 'fuck you' to everyone you ever came in contact with, and even some people that you never met. But as bad as it was for me, it must've been even worse for him.

I've never been too good at putting myself in other people's shoes, and I'll be damned if I could even imagine what it's like to be in an angel's shoes. But I know Cass- I know he may be as strong as a hurricane (x10) but I also know that he's compassionate. Probably one of the most compassionate people I've ever met. . . and he's not even a people. 

His eyes seemed bluer than usual as he stared me down, practically begging me to say something. But I didn't know what to say. I kept my eyes on him, hoping that he would look somewhere else just so I could break his gaze. But he didn't, of course. 

“Cass. . .” I managed to mutter- I could feel my throat muscles tighten as the rest of my body grew tense. It was getting harder and harder to swallow- I felt so much sympathy for the poor bastard. To feel so much pain that you just want it all to end. I mean, I've felt that way, more times than I can count. But I'm human. I've only been alive for a few decades. Cass. . . he's been around for a few millennia, I think. That's a long time. A lot of chances to want it to be over. And here he is. . . the lowest of the low. I've been there- but I still had no idea what to say. 

“I'm sorry, Dean. . . I just. . . everything I've done. All the pain I've caused. . . I just don't know how to atone for it all. I thought staying in purgatory would be penance. . . I deserve to be there. That's where monsters are supposed to be,” he explained, the lights bouncing off of his sad eyes. 

“Cass, you're not a monster. . .” I argued quickly, without meaning to. It came out like a damn hiccup. But I didn't really care at the time. “You're just a guy. . . an imperfect sack of meat, just like me. If I get a pass for all the jacked up things I've done, so do you.” I could hear myself getting louder with each sentence. Cass stared back at me- his face a cross between grateful and pitiful. 

“Thank you, Dean. I'm glad you forgive me, at least. But I don't deserve forgiveness. Not from you. Not from any human. And certainly not from Heaven. . .” he said, looking down at his feet. I knew I could spend the whole night telling him he's wrong- it wouldn't change a damn thing. 

“I do forgive you, whether you deserve it or not. And you're just gonna have to accept that,” I said with a smile, slapping him on the knee, softly, before standing. He kept his eyes on the floor. I sighed, feeling like I kind of wanted to just sit there and wallow in self hatred with him. I sat down on my bed, next to him- scooting my dad's journal out of the way. He glanced over at me, looking like he was uneasy.

_****_

_**Castiel's Perspective;** _

Dean's concern was getting to be outright perplexing. I can't recall a time when he was so understanding of my problems- not that he should be. I've observed human behavior for centuries- it's my experience that they can be. . . self important, for lack of a better term. But somehow, his sympathy made me feel better. I couldn't tell you why, it just did. I felt as though I had been suffocating, the air just got thicker and thicker. But with Dean sitting quietly beside me, I felt like I could breath again. 

I turned to him, with the hint of a smile on my face. He looked at me, still with pity in his eyes. I couldn't believe he wasn't angry or disappointed. . . he was sorry. We both were. It was some sort of unspoken understanding that we'd never felt before. And it was beautiful. I could have spent eternity like that, just the two of us- sitting together in solidarity. I could have lost myself in his gaze- I think I may have for a moment. That is, until he broke the silence.

“We're gonna figure something out. We always do,” he assured me, like he was certain this was a problem he could fix. I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. 

“Dean, this isn't your problem to repair. But thank you.” He pursed his lips, as though he was bitter. His eyes wandered around the room, searching for anywhere else to land, other than me. It hurt slightly, that he was suddenly avoiding my eyes. I wasn't sure what I had done wrong. 

“We're gonna figure something out,” he repeated, still not looking at me. Instead, he had his gaze fixed on the floor. 

“I'm sorry, Dean. . .” It was all I could manage to say. I meant it to mean that I was sorry that he couldn't help me. But something about the way it escaped my lips sounded more like I was sorry to have ever mentioned it. That I was sorry to have upset him. I suppose I was. He snapped his head back up at me, his pale green eyes pinning me in place with their sheer intensity. Since I first met him, he'd been doing this, crippling me with the profound beauty of everything that he is. Moments when I wanted to turn away from him- he would look at me the way he was right now and I would just be frozen. Any anger, any fear, any loyalties I'd ever had to anything else just melted away. 

For a second, I thought he was going to say something. Yell, lecture me, something of that nature. But he stayed silent. He just kept his eyes on mine. I couldn't tell you what was going on in his mind, but after a few seconds, his expression began to soften. The anger in his eyes now looked more like bewilderment.

_****_

_**Dean's Perspective;** _

It was his lack of trust in me that caused all this in the first place. And here he was thinking that his problems were above us. . . that we couldn't help. We were family. That's what we do. . . we trust each other. We help each other. Even if it kills us. He had to know that by now. He had to. I let my bitterness rise until I couldn't control it anymore. 

I glared up at him, fully intending to rip him a new one for his 'holier than thou' attitude. . . but when my eyes met his, I stopped. He looked so. . . lost. I remembered that I have this habit of letting my desperation to help the people I care about make me angry. So angry, I usually forget what's really important. . . but I couldn't do that to Cass, not now. 

My face must have given my thoughts away, because he was staring at me like I was about to set him on fire. I let myself smile just a little, to let him know I wasn't mad at him. It actually kind of hurt to see him like this right now. 

I'd always known Cass to be a fighter. Even when he went down, he went down fighting. But here he was, not fighting anymore. I knew he still had it in him. . . he was just tired. I was too. But I hated seeing him throwing in the towel. And as uncomfortable as it was, I had to make sure he knew that. 

“Cass,” I said, putting my hand on his knee and looking him dead in the eyes, “don't you give up on me, okay? I need you.” As true as it was, damn if it wasn't one of the hardest things I've ever had to say out loud. And Cass- first he was surprised (rightly so), then . . . I don't even know what came after that. I don't think I've ever seen Cass make that face before. His eyes were just a mass of sadness but his lips were smiling- which is weird for him. 

“I won't, Dean. I promise,” he said, softly. I swear I saw his eyes get glossy, but maybe it was just the light. He put his hand on top on mine and the weird part- I didn't move. I clenched my jaw, things had just gotten awkward and a little tense- but not really in a bad way. I mean, it could go from not bad to bad real quick. This would be a little hard to explain to Sammy- if he just decided to come back this instant. 

I'm not really sure what was going through Cass' head, but he was clearly feeling adventurous. Soon, his fingers were crawling over my hand, until they weaseled their way between my digits. And just like that, we were holding hands. It was so sudden and so freaking weird, I had no idea what to do about it. . . so I didn't do anything. 

_****_

_**Castiel's Perspective;** _

It was remarkable he had allowed me to grasp his hand so. . . well, intimately. What was even more remarkable is how good it felt. It was almost like the warmth of his hand was somehow kindling my spirit. . . making all my troubles seem insignificant and far away. I was beginning to see how humans could be driven mad by these feelings. . . and how they would kill to hold onto them. That ugly side of my mind began to take over- the side that drove me to lie to Dean, to open the door to purgatory. The side that is selfish. 

It was clear that Dean was already uncomfortable. And why shouldn't he be. It was bad enough that I'm male- a fact that Dean is clearly insecure about. But more importantly, we're friends. Brothers in arms, as it were. To stoke this flame would be to jeopardize that bond. Something that I, in my right mind, would never want to do. But when that side of me takes over- I'm far from in my right mind. I wanted relief. I needed relief. I needed Dean. 

I tightened my grip on his hand, feeling all the world like a ravenous animal. I couldn't tear myself away from his ever misty gaze- reminding me of a brilliant green meadow glistening with dew drops. I couldn't keep my eyes from wandering to his gently pursed lips, so full and inviting. I glanced longingly between the two, not sure whether I'd rather stare into that sparkling meadow forever or get lost in the ecstasy of his soft kiss. 

These were purely human emotions I was feeling. It wasn't natural for an angel to feel that way, but then, nothing about me has ever really been what my kind would call 'natural.' And I would be lying if I said that these human feelings weren't incredible. . . at least, some of them were. And this. . . this hunger was the most addicting of them all. I felt myself leaning closer, until I was close enough to feel his labored breath on my face. 

It was strange, we both just stayed there, not a word between us. I expected some backlash from Dean, but he didn't move. He was still uncomfortable, obviously, but it wasn't enough to deter him. He always was stubborn. It was like I had challenged him and he was determined not to back down. But I wasn't going to turn back now. 

I closed the distance between us, so lost in the moment I didn't even care if it would destroy our friendship. The moment my lips met his, I realized I never _really_ knew Heaven. I thought I did. . . but I didn't. This. . . the taste of his lips, the feeling of his eyelashes fluttering against my cheek, the warmth of his hand, the sound of his unsteady breath. . . this is my Heaven. 

I didn't _need_ to go back home. . . I _was_ home. As long as I was with Dean, I'd always be home. Only a few seconds had passed, before he pulled away, exasperated and confused. He stared me down and sighed. 

“What's up with you?” he finally asked. It wasn't the response I was expecting. Not at all. But the question still confounded me. I'm sure he wanted a specific answer, but I wasn't sure what. 

“What do you mean?” I inquired. He looked vaguely irritated. 

“Why aren't you a cheeseburger. . . what the Hell do you think I mean?” he joked. I assumed he was talking about the very obvious fact that I had just kissed him. And since I resolved not to lie to him anymore, I tried to tell the truth. 

“I just wanted to,” I said plainly. He tightened his lips and raised his brows, nodding his head- as though he were slightly impressed by my answer. 

“And?” he asked, his brows still raised. 

“And what?” I replied, unsure what he wanted from me. 

“What did you think?” he asked, almost shyly. Again, I saw no reason to lie. 

“It was the most enjoyable thing I've experienced in my life,” I said truthfully, hoping that if I catered to his ego he may permit me to kiss him again. He just stared at me, shock evident on his face. 

_****_

_**Dean's Perspective;** _

And there it was. . . the most uncomfortable moment in my life. Believe me, my life's been full of those- but this was just. . . Things were just starting to get a little too heavy for me. Here was this celestial being, whose been alive for God knows how long and probably seen more shit than I can even imagine- he just kisses me out of the blue and then says; “It was the most enjoyable thing I've experienced in my life.” How the Hell am I supposed to feel about that? 

He was obviously waiting for a response. . . but I didn't know what to say. It was all just too much. Too fast. Where the Hell was Sam?

“Dean?” I heard him say, quietly. It was enough to snap me out of my trance, but I was still at a loss for words. I could actually feel how dumb my expression was, just staring blankly at him. “Are you alright?” he asked. I was making an ass of myself. . . it was just Cass, right? Why was I having so much trouble talking?

“Yeah. . .” I sputtered. I was starting to disgust myself, who acts like this- besides flustered teenage boys. (which, by the way, I never was) 

“You're not talking. That's unusual for you,” he said. I'm almost glad he phrased it that way, it somehow relieved a little bit of the tension in the room. 

“Oh sure, and you're a much better conversationalist,” I added. He nodded to himself, like he couldn't deny that it was true. 

“Of course, I'm not. My point is; you're clearly perplexed by this situation. . . If you prefer, we can employ your species common practice of, uhm. . . 'pretending it never happened.'” That's Cass for ya, trying his hardest to integrate himself into a culture that he wasn't equipped to handle. But he did make a point, to an extent. 

“Oh, we _are_ going to pretend this didn't happen,” I clarified quickly. His eyes immediately fell to the floor- I swear I could almost _feel_ his heart sink. 

It was strange how this whole thing felt like it was way too much for me. . . while simultaneously feeling like it wasn't enough. Part of me knew better than to give into. . . whatever the hell this was. It wouldn't end well. But most of me didn't really care. Looking back, it was already too late to turn around. I already wanted more. And when I want something, there are very few things that will keep me from getting it- including my own better judgment. And it's obvious Cass was too far gone at this point. Funny how Mr. bigger picture was having trouble seeing the reality of the situation. 

“But. . . we can worry about that later,” I said. He looked back up at me, confused. I lifted his chin with my hand, feeling the light prickle of his stubble under my fingertips. I brought his face closer to mine, my intentions pretty clear. His blue eyes slid shut, instinctively- and just like that, we were locking lips for the second time tonight. Sam was due back any minute now- and this was one of those things I was pretty determined to keep secret from my little brother- as long as I could help it. But right now, it was just me and the angel on my shoulder. . . and despite all the shit he's pulled, I did still trust him. 

_****_

_**Castiel's Perspective;** _

For a moment, I thought maybe I'd crossed a line there was no turning back from. For a moment, I thought he wanted to run. He does have a habit of running from anything that might make him happy. But, to his credit, he didn't run away. It was a welcome change of character. 

These are all things I would dwell on later, of course. At that time, I was much too distracted by everything Dean was doing to me- physically and emotionally. His body was so very warm, pressed snugly against mine. (at least, the body that I'd come to know as mine) 

His hand clenched my hair, tightly- it hurt a little, but it also felt invigorating somehow. I guess it's what humans call 'tough love.' I was taken slightly off guard when his lips drifted from mine, down to my neck. For reasons I can't be sure of, maybe to allow him better access, I let my head fall back as his velveteen lips drew themselves further down. It's incredible how a humans lips can feel so similar to holy absolution- suddenly the weight of all of my sins was lifted, if only for a moment. I never would have guessed this could feel so good- although something was telling me it wouldn't have felt quite so transcendental coming from just any human. 

Dean was special. He'd always been special- I knew that the moment I touched his soul. He wasn't especially extraordinary, nor was he the first man to change the course of human history. He was, however, very unique. At least, he'd always been different in my eyes. Of all my years of observing the human race from afar, there have been many things I've seen- humans are so. . . repetitive. War, love affairs, greedy politicians, more war, the bastardization of every religion ever conceived, booming popular culture, more war, more love affairs, more greed, more hate. It's always been the same song- and because I love my father's creations more than my own family- I've grown so tired of hearing it. All mankind has ever done is suffer- at it's own hands. 

Dean was no different. He was always suffering. He was born to suffer. But unlike so many of God's creations, he was also born to fight. He's imbued with a burning passion that's so inspiring, so refreshing, it's impossible not to admire him. And although he's not always the most accepting of humans, it doesn't mean he doesn't care at all. I try not to invade his privacy- but I have seen into his head before. I've been in his dreams before. I've seen how he forces himself to be indifferent when things get hard- because it's all he can do. Few things frighten Dean more than someone he cares about being in danger and him being helpless to stop it. Which is why he often needs to simply shrug it off and move on. 

He's a complicated creature, with emotions I couldn't begin to understand. But I'll be damned if I'm not going to try. Right now, though, I was at a loss. Whatever Dean was feeling- whatever he was thinking, I couldn't be sure. And reading his mind was out of the question, I couldn't even tell you what _I_ was thinking about, let alone what was going on in his head. 

As his affections persisted, I found myself not even trying to suppress my hunger. A shameless moan escaped my throat as my roaming hands found his abdomen. His white, button-up shirt was tucked tightly into his pants, restricting my fingers from reaching the battle-worn skin beneath it. I pulled it up, desperate to get closer to the heat resonating from his chest. My hands took refuge under the pale broadcloth, familiarizing themselves with every inch of flesh- every muscle, every pore, everything. 

Dean's lips had, once again, migrated- this time to my clavicle. They stayed there only a short time before he stopped, breathing heavily, and looked back up at me. I brought my head back up, but kept my hands firmly in place on his chest- hoping he wouldn't make me let go. 

_****_

_**Dean's Perspective;** _

It was getting hard to focus. I had to pull myself away- although the second I saw the confused and needy look on his face, I almost wished I hadn't. This had gone way farther than I ever wanted it to- Hell, I never _wanted_ it to begin with. It was a little too much before- but now it's just getting out of hand. 

The way he felt, the sounds he made- it was too. . . good. It wasn't _supposed_ to be that good- getting intimate with your best friend wasn't supposed to feel so damn good. I could feel my body responding in ways it shouldn't have. And that was where I drew the line. 

“Look, Cass,” I started to say, still gasping for air- my eyes stuck on his body, “This is nice. But. . . you know, maybe we should stop before things get. . . weird-er.” I looked back up into his eyes and I was met with a pleading animal- like a puppy that just had his nose rubbed in his own piss but didn't understand why. 

“Dean. . . I don't want to stop,” he said, his hands sliding up my chest, making me seriously reconsider my stance. 

“Yeah, I know. But this is crazy dangerous, Cass. I mean, things are good the way they are, right? Why jack everything up on a whim?” He kept staring, that same lost look in his eyes.

“Because I need you,” he said bluntly. I felt my defenses falling already, but he wasn't done yet. “I'm tired of pretending I don't. Dean, I think it's plain as day to anyone paying attention, but if you need me to say it out loud, I will. . .” he paused for a second, pulling his hands out of my shirt and locking eyes with me. “I love you, Dean. In every way that it is possible for an angel to love a human. And, if that requires explaining; it's possible in all the same ways in which two humans can love. It's rare- but possible.” 

He looked away, his lips tight and his eyes pensive. But I was a little too stunned to really let that sink in. Not that I was _too_ surprised by his little confession- I mean, he was right, anyone paying attention might have seen it. And I'm not _that_ dense. Still, I wasn't expecting it to come out like that, and now that it had- I had no idea how to feel about it. 

At least, I didn't know how I _should_ feel. I did know what I _did_ feel, I just wasn't sure if it was right. I've known Cass for almost 5 years now- it seems like I've known him a hell of a lot longer than that. We've been to Hell and back again- and purgatory. We've fought our way through the apocalypse. . . twice- and countless other baddies. We've bled, we've died, we've lost our way, we've been used, abused, and beaten down until there was nothing left. He didn't have to do any of it. He chose this life. . . for me- he's made that clear plenty of times. 

What I feel right now. . . it's gratitude. It's pride. Hell, I'd even go so far as to say it's happiness. To have someone like Cass in my corner- it's a pretty good feeling. I felt lucky, for the first time in a long time. It was nice to have someone who doesn't make me feel like a curse, someone who would fight alongside me and do anything for me. I still kind of hated God for turning tail on humanity, but I couldn't fault him for making Cass. I don't want to think about where I'd be if I didn't have him. 

So, even though I felt like I should feel disgusted, freaked, and just generally weird about what he just said. . . the cold truth was; I just didn't. Ashamed, confused, nervous. . . sure. But not bad. I nodded my head gently, not really sure what to do or say- now that the air in the room had gotten thicker than demon smoke. It took a while, but after looking back into his pleading eyes, I finally settled on a solution. 

I scooted closer to him and placed my hands on his hips. His muscles tightened under my fingers- poor guy must've been so lost. Basic human emotions are usually too much for him to grasp. Love is anything but basic. 

_****_

_**Castiel's Perspective;** _

I would've given anything for him to accept my confession. Maybe not return the sentiment, since that would be asking too much- but acceptance was plausible. But Dean was always too dramatic- too passionate, as it were. Which I've already explained is one of the very reasons I adore him. Love is far too complicated. 

But as with his refusal to become Michael's vessel and his refusal to leave me behind in purgatory; Dean was always finding new ways to surprise me. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me as close as we could physically be. Once again, I was overcome by his soothing warmth. He pressed his forehead to mine, our noses brushing against one another. 

“I know you do,” he finally said in a whisper. “And I'm a lucky bastard.” As I said, he's always finding new ways to surprise me. 

“Why?” I asked, without meaning to. He kissed me gently, his sinfully soft lips just barely grazing mine. With our heads still nuzzled together, he opened his shimmering green eyes and looked at me- we were so close I could see the flecks of golden brown strewn throughout his irises. 

“Because I don't deserve you,” he replied, tenderly.


End file.
